


These Are Not Love Letters

by ContrEeri



Series: This is Not a Love Story [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Black Harry Potter, Black Hermione Granger, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-26
Updated: 2017-04-26
Packaged: 2018-10-24 05:39:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,187
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10735266
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ContrEeri/pseuds/ContrEeri
Summary: Generally, love letters are filled with sweet nothings, 'I love yous', 'I miss yous', and promises of forever. That's why these aren't love letters. They really truly aren't. Instead, they're falling in love letters, they are the slow but sure decent from old school rivals to friends to something else they aren't quite ready to name.





	These Are Not Love Letters

**Author's Note:**

> This was just supposed to be a quick little something, but I am incapable of that. But it still ended up being less involved than I would have thought, given my tendency to make things way more involved than they need to be. Sometimes, you just wanna write/read a sweet, simple fic. My ideas always just get carried away. Anyway, I wrote this based on a cute prompt meme from tumblr (it was a series of sweet moments). An anon sent me #25 Exchanging Letters and wanted it to be fore H/D. I wrote just finished this and it's 3am for me, and I haven't bothered going over this for edits yet because I'm just so excited that I've managed to finish something in a few hours! I'll probably edit it later, but feel free to point out any errors if you see them while reading! Enjoy! ~~and then it took me almost two hours to figure out what the fuck was going on with the coding, so now it's almost 5am smh~~

It started with a letter. 

_Potter,_

_It has been exactly three months since you stopped having need of my wand. I would kindly like it back._

_Regards,_

_D. Malfoy_

Harry had to admit it was only fair of him to return Malfoy's wand. He had held onto it for a while longer than he'd meant to, but for some reason every time he went to owl Malfoy about it he simply could not bring himself to. The hawthorn wand sat on his desk, not at all unused as Malfoy had thought. Harry used it around the house sometimes, when he'd forgotten to grab his own wand from the bedroom, or simply because he was curious if the wand still felt the same. 

It did. It was warm. It was gentle. It was kind. 

Harry didn't understand how because Draco Malfoy was anything but. The enigma of Draco Malfoy's wand was the only reason he'd kept it... 

Well, that was what he'd told Hermione when she'd pestered him about it. It was the excuse he'd given Ron, too. 

He had a feeling they knew better. 

It was just strange. He loved his wand. He had never wanted or needed another, but Draco Malfoy's wand felt just as right in his hand as his own did and sometimes he missed the hawthorn wand. He missed the way it made his skin tingle, missed the way it warmed at his touch even before he'd cast a spell. 

Parting with Malfoy's wand would be harder than Harry cared to admit. 

He sat for over an hour trying to think up a proper reply, and wondered many times if Malfoy had had the same trouble penning his letter to Harry. He sighed, shaking his head. 

Doubtful. Judging by Malfoy's tone he was irritated—which he had every right to be—and he had probably only waited this long because he'd thought Harry would do it first. 

Finally, admitting defeat, Harry wrote a quick reply. 

***

_Sorry about keeping your wand for so long. Do you want to meet in Diagon Alley? I've got orientation for Aurors tomorrow and Wednesday if any of those work for you. I could meet you around noon._

_Harry_

Draco frowned at the informal response, at the personal way Potter had signed off his given name. His frown turned into a scowl. 

He had no desire to meet with Potter. Why couldn't he just mail it? Then neither of them would ever have to see each other ever again. Did Potter actually think Draco wanted to see him? Did he expect they would sit down to lunch? Didn't he know that people in Diagon Alley hated Draco? He hadn't been since June, when he'd tried to go to Ollivander's after a whole lot of psyching himself up, and he'd practically been chased out before he'd even set foot in the shop. 

If it hadn't been for that he might have let Potter keep his wand. Hell, he'd thought Potter would have snapped his wand in two, but he supposed that didn't fall in line with Potter's moral code. Maybe Potter just wanted to keep the wand that had defeated the Dark Lord as a sort of morbid memento. 

Draco shook his head. “Daft. He's absolutely—” He made a frustrated sound, grabbing a quill from his desk and writing a quick reply. 

He watched his owl fly away, his expression pinched. 

Trust Potter to make this difficult. 

***

_Potter,_

_This is not a luncheon. I simply wish for you to return my wand to me. By owl is perfectly acceptable._

_D. Malfoy_

Harry ran his hand through his hair. Trust Malfoy to be a prick about the whole thing. Harry was just trying to be civil, nice even! What was wrong with doing it in person? Harry didn't like the idea of sending an owl off with a wand; what if he dropped it? What if he accidentally set it off and hurt himself? What if it got into the wrong hands? 

No. Harry would only give Malfoy his wand back if they met in person. 

And if meeting in person also helped him solve the mystery of Draco Malfoy's wand, then that was just an added bonus. 

He penned a reply, thinking over his words more carefully than before. 

Malfoy's owl cooed as though in approval. 

Harry smiled. 

***

_Malfoy,_

_Don't be a prick. I'm trying to be nice. Don't tell me your scared? ~~I promise I'm really not that bad once you get to know me.~~ ~~I promise I won't bite.~~ I promise it will be painless. Can't we at least try to be civil to one another? Your wand's been great, you know? ~~And if I can manage to defeat Voldemort with it, I have a feeling I can defeat your ego~~ And if your wand can work with me, I have a feeling you can too. Besides, I don't want to risk owling it and having something go wrong. _

_So stop being stubborn and agree on a time and day._

_Harry_

_PS  
I hadn't been suggesting lunch, but if you want to grab something to eat I wouldn't mind._

Draco was half tempted to incinerate the parchment.

It was just like Potter to act like the self-righteous fool he was. 

“Draco,” his mother called and he quickly hid the letter. 

“In here, Mother,” he answered. 

She floated into the room, graceful and beautiful as ever. There was a sadness in her eyes now though, something haunted. He knew that as long as she lived in this house she would never be truly free from that darkness. 

“I thought I saw Icarus returning while I was in the garden. Did Mr. Potter finally send you back your wand?” 

Draco's skin prickled, his cheeks warming. “Not quite, Mother.” 

She raised one elegant eyebrow, a feat Draco had tried many times to emulate as a child but never could manage. She waited patiently for him to elaborate, but he really had no desire to. He avoided her gaze, but there was something about her that always pulled the truth from him. 

He sighed, pulling the letter from the pocket of his robes. “He wants to meet in person.” 

Narcissa took the letter as though it were a delicate piece of art, or perhaps as though it were a sensitive dark artifact that might curse her if she mishandled it. She read the letter over, her expression as serene and unreadable as ever. 

“Mr. Potter certainly has a way with words,” she said, and Draco was horrified to see that she was smiling. 

“Mother!” 

“Don't you 'Mother' me, Draco,” she said, stepping close to smooth out his robes, his hair. She had taken to doing this since the war, as if she needed to touch him every now and again to ensure he was still real. “He's a hero, Draco. _The_ hero, in fact. Surely seeing Harry Potter wouldn't hurt.” 

Draco rolled his eyes. “Yes, anything to look good.” 

“That's not what I meant,” she said softly, chiding. “I am not your father, Draco. He is in Azkaban, and much as it pains me to say it, it is where he belongs. Your father's choices nearly cost us so much.” 

“Nearly? Mother, we have nothing left but the house!” 

“Hush,” she said, giving him a stern look. We may not have money, Draco, but we have each other. You are alive, and that is all I could ever want. For you to be alive...and happy.”

Draco snorted. “Mother, please. Be serious.” 

“I am being serious, Draco. Quite so, in fact. Your father only ever wanted power and prestige. I would like more for you. Don't throw this opportunity away.” She pressed a kiss to his cheek, brushed his hair from his face, and swept from the room. “Lunch will be in ten minutes. Also, do send Mr. Potter my regards.” 

Draco watched her go, his stomach in knots. 

***

Malfoy didn't reply for a full week. Harry's orientation had come and gone and he was, quite frankly, becoming annoyed. He'd just as happily keep the wand if Malfoy was going to act like a child. 

As he returned from lunch with Ron and George, he saw a familiar owl waiting for him. He couldn't help the smile that spread across his face or the excitement that made his heart beat a little bit quicker. He hurried inside, the owl following after him and settling on what Harry had come to realize was its favourite perch. 

“Hey, buddy,” he said, running a gentle finger over its head. “Glad to see you. Didn't think I would.”

The owl hooted in reply and stuck out its leg. 

Harry took the letter, opening it with trembling fingers, though later he would absolutely have denied this fact. 

_Potter,_

_I will have you know that I am perfectly capable of being civil._

_That being said, you are insufferable. A great, big insufferable prick and you're terrible at writing correspondences. You do realise I could read every single one of your redacted sentences, don't you? Honestly, there are spells for that sort of thing! Or, if you find that magic too complicated for you, I suggest in the future you grab a new piece of parchment._

_My mother saw that missive, I will have you know. But I suppose you don't care._

_In any case, I have absolutely no desire to lunch with you, not now, not ever. I simply want my wand back, and if you insist on being stubborn about this I will simply take legal action._

_D. Malfoy_

_PS  
Mother sends her regards. _

Despite the insults and Malfoy's stubbornness, Harry was smiling by the time he finished reading the letter. 

“You know,” he said, looking back to the owl, “I think I'm starting to get through to him.” 

The owl only hooted. 

***

Potter—insufferable, Draco now realised had been too kind a word—had not responded to him for a week now. A week. Seven whole days. 

He was the absolute worst. And he was holding Draco's owl hostage. 

And to add insult to injury, Narcissa, Draco's dear, dear mother, thought it was _funny._

“Betrayed by my own mother,” Draco had said, and promptly refused to take tea with her in protest. 

She only found the situation more amusing. 

He was on the verge of filing some sort of formal complaint—surely the Department of Magical Creatures would have something to his owl being held prisoner—when his mother found him in the gardens. 

“Draco, tea.” 

He could tell by her tone of voice that it was not a request and he was not so stubborn as to know when to quit. He called a temporary truce, abandoning his protest to join his mother in the foyer for tea. The end of August was one of Draco's favourite times of year: the flowers were all in bloom and the smell filled the gardens in the summer heat. He breathed it in, looking out of the gardens, before turning to face his mother. 

She was smiling, an unexpected sight, and propped in the middle of the table on the serving tray was a letter. 

Draco narrowed his eyes. “Oh, no.” 

Narcissa's smile grew. “Oh. Yes. Sit, Draco.” 

“Did he write to you?” Draco couldn't help but ask as he took his seat. 

“No,” Narcissa said primly, placing a scone on the tiny plate before her. “It's for you. I've had Tobby keep an eye on the post. It only arrived today.” 

Draco let out a sigh of relief. Small mercies, then. 

“Aren't you going to read it?” 

Or not. Draco silently sent up a prayer as he picked up the letter and opened it. 

Potter had really outdone himself this time. There were more crossed out sentences, more scribbles, and it looked as though there may have been something spilled on one corner. Draco closed eyes, trying to find his patience. 

“He's a cretin, Mother.” 

“Read the letter, darling,” she instructed, and because it had been so ingrained in him, Draco began reading out loud. 

“'Malfoy. You know what? No. Draco.' Oh, Merlin, he's underlined it. Mother, this is absurd.” 

“Keep reading,” she said, primly taking a sip of tea. 

“'Draco, for someone who's so civil, you sure do like to insult me.' He's crossed this next part out, but I can still read it. 'I don't know, maybe I won't give you back your wand.' Honestly, he can't even properly threaten me! 'You're a right pain in my arse—and I hope your mother read that, too, by the way. I bet you lot are too posh for that, though? Shit, I hope that didn't offend her.' Again, that latter part was crossed out. 'Um. Look, Mal—Draco—' Merlin, Mother, this is painful to read—”

“Really?” she asked, raising that one elegant eyebrow. “Because you seem to be enjoying yourself. I certainly am.” 

Draco's cheeks warmed, and he avoided her gaze, returning to the letter. “'Draco, you're the one being stubborn. I'm perfectly willing to give you your wand back—which means that legally you have nothing against me, I asked Hermione—' Oh, he would, the tosser—”

“Language, Draco,” his mother reprimanded, enjoying herself far too much. Draco realized it had been months since she'd left the Manor. Clearly she was using him for her own entertainment. The slight to Draco's pride was only overshadowed by Potter's horrible letter, still waiting for Draco to finish reading it. 

“'If Diagon Alley is a problem for you, I could always give you my address. I don't mind if you come by to pick it up. I do want to give it back, and I kind of...wanted to ask you something about it. I mean, Ollivander told me some things about wands, but I guess I just think it's a bit funny that your wand worked so well for me. You know I've used it since the war. It's weird—please don't let your mother get this far, please, oh please—'” Draco smirked. “He crossed that out, but oh this is good! This means he's embarrassed.” 

Narcissa leaned forward, looking every bit as eager to hear as he knew she would be. “Go on.” 

Draco raised his eyebrows, not one but both blast it all. “I don't know, Mother. Perhaps I should keep the rest to myself.” 

She let out a very theatrical gasp and gently slapped his hand in jest. “Don't deprive your mother, Draco.” 

Smiling at her fondly, he continued, “'I sometimes miss your wand. If I don't use it for a while, I mean. That does sound weird. I've never told anyone. I mean, they'd think I was daft. Maybe something left over from—' oh, no he uses the Dark Lord's name there. 'But I don't think it's got anything to do with that. I just think you have a nice wand. I mean, it's actually nice. Like it feels nice—' another underline. He certainly is emphatic about this. 'Do you understand? I guess, I just wanted to know what that meant, if it meant anything.

“'Anyway, my address—' I absolutely refuse to read that aloud, Mother. I will not have you and Potter becoming _friends_. I will never know peace if that ever happens.”

“Oh, Draco, you are too cruel.” 

“Only as cruel as you deserve for making me read this.” He cleared his throat and continued. “'Hope to see you soon. Harry' Merlin, I wish he wouldn't sign his name. It is so strange to see it.” 

“Why do you say that?”

“Because he's Potter, Mother.” 

“And? You used to go on and on about him before—well, before the war. It was always 'Harry Potter this' and 'Harry Potter that' and 'Mother, did you know Harry Potter is a Hogwarts' Champion?' Or 'Mother, did you know those muggles Harry Potter lives with don't send him gifts? Why do you think that is?' Or—”

“All right, all right! I get it! But that was a long time ago.” 

“Not so long ago. You're only eighteen, Draco. You were fifteen quite recently.” 

Draco rolled his eyes. “I can do maths, Mother.” 

“Quite,” she agreed, rising from her seat. “But can you move on from the past?” 

She left, returning to the Manor interior, no doubt planning out what to do when Potter's next letter arrived. 

He glanced down at the letter one final time, unrolling it the rest of the way to reveal a post script. 

_PS  
I'm sorry I kept your owl for so long. He's great company. I guess I miss Hedwig... What's his name? I promise I took good care of him while he was with me. I think he quite likes me. Funny, that. All of your things seem to like me, but you're still determined not to budge. _

_Oh, and tell your mum I say hi._

With a sigh and a smile that Draco would deny if anyone ever questioned him, he finally accepted his fate. 

***

A familiar owl was once again waiting for him when he arrived at home. 

Harry's grin was broad and his eyes bright. Behind him, Hermione poked her head around, curious as to why he'd stopped. 

“Oh, he's beautiful. Harry, you didn't tell us you'd gotten a new owl.” 

“I didn't,” he said, holding his arm out. The owl flew the short distance from Harry's window ledge to his arm, landing gracefully and immediately nuzzling Harry. He pressed a gentle finger against its forehead, stroking carefully. “It's Malfoy's owl.” 

“Malfoy?” Ron almost shouted. “What's Malfoy's owl doing here?” 

“He likes me,” Harry said. 

Ron spluttered. “Uh, mate—”

“The owl, Ron,” Harry said exasperatedly.

Hermione tutted, moving closer to pet the owl. “He's quite a handsome bird, isn't he? What's his name?” 

“I don't know, but hopefully Draco—er, Malfoy told me in this letter.” 

“Draco?” Ron and Hermione repeated. Ron's mouth hung open. Hermione was giving Harry a very thoughtful look. 

He shrugged. “We've been writing a bit. He wants his wand back. I told you about that, Hermione.” 

“You didn't go into detail,” she said carefully, still eyeing him as though he were a particularly interesting arithmancy equation to solve.

“Sorry, I was more concerned with him threatening legal action.” 

Ron snorted. “Like anyone would actually listen to him. So why's he still writing to you? I mean, you sent him his wand, right?” 

Harry shook his head. “Nope. I mean, I'm gonna give it to him, but I want to do it in person. Anything could go wrong if I just owl him his wand.” 

“Come off it—”

“Harry's right, Ron.” 

“But—but it's Malfoy!” 

“I quite agree, but unfortunately it's for the best,” Hermione said heavily. “But once Malfoy has his wand, I'm sure that'll be the end of that. Right, Harry?” 

Harry felt shame curl in the pit of his stomach. He didn't want it to be the end, but he didn't know how to explain that to them. He couldn't expect Hermione to just let go of the slurs Malfoy had hurled at her over the years, nor could he expect Ron to let go of the many insults to his family. Harry didn't know why he was so willing to. Maybe it was seeing the things Malfoy had endured, maybe it was because Malfoy's wand was good and warm and made him feel strangely at home in a way his own wand didn't. 

He avoided Hermione's gaze, tapping the lock on his apartment with his wand. Once the door was open, the owl flew immediately to its favourite perch and settled in. 

“Harry,” Hermione said, her voice tight. “Harry, please don't tell me you're trying to be friends with him.”

“Okay,” Harry said, quietly, ashamedly. “I won't.”

Hermione sighed. Behind her, Ron gawked. “You always want to see the good in everyone, Harry,” she said sadly. “But some people—”

“Hermione, please,” Harry tried. “It's not—he's not the person he used to be. I know he's not. And I know that he could be better if I just give him a chance.” 

“How do you reckon that, mate?” Ron asked, sounding more curious than angry, much to Harry's surprise. 

“I just—I saw things, you know? When we were looking for the Horcruxes. And that night on the Astronomy tower. He's not evil, he's just...misguided. Okay, he's also arrogant and he was a bully, but I think he's different.” He hesitated, biting his lip. “And his wand feels...nice.” 

Hermione and Ron exchanged looks. 

Finally, with a heavy sigh, Ron clapped Harry's shoulder, giving it a gentle, supportive squeeze. “Look, mate, I don't like it and I don't like him, but you've never led us wrong. If you think Malfoy's not all bad, then all right. I believe you. But don't expect me to be nice to him, and don't bring him round the Burrow.” 

“Why would I do that?” Harry asked, his voice breaking at the mere notion of the chaos that would cause. 

Ron shrugged. “No reason.” 

Hermione was watching Harry quietly, and something about her expression seemed oddly fragile. 

“Hermione?”

“I'm sorry, Harry, I—I just—it's okay. I—I do support you, and I love you. That's not going to change, I just think I need time. Malfoy—I know he's not his father, I know he's not a real Death Eater, but he was the first person to call me 'Mudblood', you know? And I just...” 

Harry felt his throat tighten. He pulled Hermione into a hug, pressing his face into her thick, kinky hair. Ron wrapped himself around them both, resting his chin on top of their heads. 

“It's all right, though,” she whispered. “I—we've always loved that about you, you know? The way you see the good in everyone. It's a good quality to have, and I think—if anyone needs that, it's probably Malfoy. He's a prat, but after everything, maybe he deserves a little bit of redemption.” 

Harry closed his eyes, overwhelmed by the sheer force of his love for his two best friends.

“Thank you,” he whispered. 

***

That night, after he'd said goodbye to Ron and Hermione, he took the letter and read it in bed.

_Potter,_

_I quite hate you currently._

_First, you steal my wand for months. Then you refuse to give it back to me on my terms. And then you steal my owl. I shouldn't have let Icarus deliver this letter, but he does seem to like you, the little traitor. Maybe I'll just let you keep him. You do seem rather fond of taking my things. You should really talk to someone about this strange fixation you have on me, Potter. It can't be healthy. I say this out of... concern for myself, you understand. Don't read into it._

_And I am hardly stubborn, Potter. I simply have no desire to be in your company, though you seem quite determined to be in mine. Why is that, Potter? Must I resign myself to be harassed by weekly letters from you until I retrieve my wand? At this point I think meeting in person would only encourage you. I do recall you being quite incorrigible back at school._

_Mother finds your letters amusing. I think she's quite bored here, now that I think about it. She hasn't left the Manor in ages, nor has she had anyone round for tea or dinner. She used to host a number of dinner parties, you know. And galas. Obviously things have changed, and I think Mother is a bit desperate. Our correspondence has become something of an intrigue. She had quite an elaborate reveal set up for the arrival of your last letter. It's quite alarming. For your own safety, I have hidden your last letter in case she finds it and comes to call at your home out of some misguided need for social interaction._

_You are quite needy, Potter. Honestly, why do you latch onto anything and anyone that shows you an ounce of kindness? It's just a wand, Potter. It doesn't mean anything. All it means is that my wand has betrayed me, just as Mother and Icarus have, and so I will most likely have to break it. It pains me to entertain such a notion, but I cannot trust my wand if it behaves so well for you, can I? I, unlike my wand—and mother and owl—will not be wooed, charmed, or otherwise hoodwinked by your charms. I am immune, Potter. Immune. So you may as well cease and desist._

_I will absolutely not be calling upon you at your home, but if you insist on keeping my wand unless I retrieve it in person, I will send along a house elf in my stead. Please let me know a good time to send along Tobby._

_D. Malfoy_

_PS  
Icarus' favourite treats are Crowley's Soaring Delights. If you insist on keeping my owl again, do at least ensure that he is properly spoiled. Also, I read the entirety of your last correspondence aloud, so Mother not only knows that you have a very poor sense of humor, but also that you have a strange attachment to my wand. Do you know, I bet there are other people who would find that very interesting? Do you think Rita Skeeter would listen to me still?_

Harry fell asleep feeling lighter and happier than he had in months. 

***

_Draco,_

_For someone who doesn't want to interact with me and claims to hate me so much, you seem to enjoy writing to me. I think you're in denial. You wanted to be my friend back in school, remember? I haven't forgotten that, and I doubt you have. So why is it so hard now? I'd think it'd be easier. We can't start over. I can't pretend that you weren't an awful, bullying git or that you never called Hermione that horrible word or insulted Ron every chance you got. And I can't pretend that you didn't help Umbridge._

_But I know you didn't want to help Voldemort._

_And I think you have it in you to make up for the past._

_I think that's why you don't want to see me. I think you're scared, and I'm not just trying to goad you. I really do think so. If you ever decide that you're ready to be brave, let me know. Until then, I'll keep your wand. Especially if you just plan on destroying it—which I highly doubt, but I'm not quite ready to bet money on that._

_Your concern for my mental well-being is really sweet, though. Did your mother make you write that? Or are you able to make friends all on your own now? Honestly, you're a bit of a hypocrite. You went out of your way in school to get my attention—Hermione said it was something about feeling slighted because I didn't want to be your friend. I think she's right. Ron agreed with her, but then he also seems to think I have a “fixation”. I don't, mind. I just think it'd be nice to maybe understand one another, maybe—okay, maybe friendship is asking too much, but I just think that after everything we've been through it'd be good to move on._

_Besides, don't you want to talk to someone about Voldemort? You can't have done with your friends. And I can't imagine you and your mum having a sit down to talk about what a nightmare living with Voldemort was._

_~~But I know things about what you went through. I saw things...~~ _

_~~I still have nightmares. I can't imagine you don't.~~ _

_~~I don't know why I'm trying so hard.~~ _

_At least, my letters are a bright spot in someone's day. It seems your mother is more interested in corresponding with me. Perhaps I should be writing to her. Bet Rita Skeeter would have a heart attack, yeah? I can picture the headline. “Harry Potter and Narcissa Malfoy: Pen Pals?” I wonder which would be the more sensational headline, though. “Harry Potter: 'Malfoy's Got a Nice Wand'” or me and your mum writing one another. Knowing Rita Skeeter she'd put a fucking awful spin on the whole thing. Right now I'm their great big hero though, so I don't imagine she'd try to make me look too bad. Maybe in five years or so, when the war isn't as fresh and she's hoping to make waves. That's more her style, I'd wager._

_If you sold that story to her, I expect at least fifty percent of the profit, though._

_I've never had anyone call me needy before—well, no. I think Ginny may have been implying that this summer. It's funny, the war's over and suddenly she's telling me she only sees me as a brother. We're on good terms at least, but I guess I did expect... Maybe I am a bit needy. Guess growing up in a cupboard isn't all its cracked up to be, eh? It's certainly no Malfoy Manor. Which, by the way, purple walls are a bit much, even by your standards. I really hope you decide to repaint._

_Oh, and by the way, if you do decide to come round to pick up your wand, I'm a really good cook. I could probably give Tobby a run for his money—well, I assume he's a house elf, so maybe not money. Is he related to Dobby? Do you know that Dobby died? During the war. Your aunt's knife got him as we were escaping. You probably don't care, but I just realised, you know, he was your house elf for a long time. He died a hero, though. I mean, even if you deny it, I know you're glad we got out of there that night. I know you didn't want to turn us in._

_Right, well, I didn't mean to end this letter on such a somber note._

_Hope you change your mind about coming round._

_Harry_

_PS  
I've gotten Icarus the treats you mentioned and also a perch. He seems quite happy. Do you think we'll have to fight over custody? I'd really rather not. I'm quite busy with my Auror training now, you know, so could we agree on weekends? Of course, once I've passed the Auror Exams we may need to come up with a new arrangement._

Draco was smiling down at the postscript, absentmindedly petting Icarus. 

“Send Harry my regards,” his mother said as she rose from her seat and Tobby appeared to collect their dirty plates. 

“Yes, Mother,” Draco said as he picked up the quill that he'd requested the moment Icarus had flown through the dinning room windows. 

He glanced down at Harry's letter, then began to write his reply. 

***

_Potter,_

_A cupboard? Is that a metaphor? Are you trying to tell me you're gay? Well, I never would have guessed given your very sad attempts at wooing Cho Chang and the Weasley girl. Then again, I suppose it's quite obvious now. Poor Ginny Weasley was just your secret longing for Ronald, your best friend and confident, who was always clearly in love with Granger. I suppose Cho Change was a misplaced sense of grief for Diggory. You poor, addled man. You really should just accept yourself. I've done. Pansy was quite furious, but she learned to accept it only because I agreed to marry her regardless—but that marriage has been called off now Pansy's left the country. Of course, you really ought to be talking about this with your friends, Potter. Not me. I'm hardly going to be a sympathetic ear to your closeted woes. I'm sure they are quite woeful, but I am sure I'd find them quite mundane, given my own circumstances._

_But I suppose it would be nice to hear comforting words from someone in your shoes, so I'm sure someday you'll meet a nice bloke and come out to the Wizarding World at large, and everyone—especially Skeeter—will have a field day. You'll become the poster child for 'accepting the same gender attracted wizards and witches you know and love'. You would turn your own inner turmoil into a way to help others, you noble, bloody idiot._

_And don't you dare write to my mother, do you hear me? Not one letter, Potter. Not even a small piece of parchment with the word 'hello' or I will find you and kill you. I know where you live, Potter. Don't make me come after you._

_Also, please never psychoanalyze me ever again. It's really quite invasive, but then again this is you I'm talking to. You don't really know how to respect boundaries, do you? I mean, between this and you spying on me in the bathroom during sixth year—oh, but then I suppose now your stalking tendencies make all the more sense. Oh, Potter. Potter, Potter. Sad, lonely, Potter. I am flattered, truly, but it would never work, you and I. I'm sure the world would love to be swept away by our forbidden romance, but I simply hate you too much._

_I suppose this does make me feel for you, though. And here all this time I thought you were just being your usual self-righteous self, when in reality you just have a crush on me. Oh, how sweet and misguided you are. Now, I really must decline your offer for lunch. I would hate to lead you on, after all._

_Although, I must thank you for informing me of Dobby's passing. It comes as a surprise to myself and Mother. We had assumed he was doing well after his very daring rescue. I had honestly hoped he'd—well, I suppose it doesn't matter now. I do hope that he died knowing he'd done well. I was a little shit to him as a child, and certainly my father abused him something fierce, but Mother has always been much kinder to our servants. I suppose not so kind by your measure, but she was. And now she is even more so. Tobby is indeed Dobby's brother, and he is quite good. I do not know how I'll break the news to him, but I shall find a way. He will be so devastated, but I will tell him what you said, that Dobby was a hero, even Harry Potter says so._

_Sincerely,  
Draco_

_PS  
I am quite concerned by the sentences you crossed out, make no mistake. I simply have too much tact to poke fun at you for the obvious trauma the war has caused you, but do go to St. Mungo's. I'm sure they can help. _

_PPS  
Only two days a week with Icarus? Honestly, Potter, I thought you cared for him. Is that anyway to treat your stolen owl? I do all the work five days a week, and you expect to only put in the work for two. Typical of your kind. I suppose you think you don't need to help pay for his food when he's with me now, too. I'm sure the Department of Magical Creatures will be none too happy about this. And what will the world say when they learn that Harry Potter, their hero, is a dead beat pet owner? I am truly disappointed in you. _

***

Harry didn't reply to Draco for two weeks, which meant Icarus was enjoying himself in Harry's flat, especially when Hermione would pop in. Harry was beginning to think Icarus would abandon him and Draco for her. Clearly, Icarus was a fickle owl. 

But Harry could not bring himself to reply to Draco's letter, try as he might. 

He sat at his desk every night, determined to come up with something clever, something witty, but it never came. He reread the letters Draco had sent him, over and over until he came to the most recent one. And then he'd read that one until his eyes gave out. He'd read it so many times now that he had it memorized, which was impressive because his memory wasn't all that good to begin with. 

“Hermione,” Harry asked her as week two of avoiding Draco came to an end, while Ron was busy helping George. “Do you...have you ever thought I might be...gay?” 

Hermione blinked owlishly, then took a deep breath, grabbed Harry's hand and led him to a seat at the kitchen table. “Is this it?” 

Harry frowned. “Er...what?” 

“Are you...coming out?” 

“Wha—no! I mean...I don't know. I never really thought about liking blokes. I mean, I like women!” 

“Of course, you do.” Hermione paused, waited a beat, then continued, “But you can also like blokes, Harry.” 

Harry frowned. “I...what?” 

“Bisexuality,” Hermione said. “Dean is, you know? He and Seamus have been seeing each other since the war.” 

Harry boggled. “R-really?” 

“Oh, yes. Ron and I ran into Dean in Diagon Alley a couple weeks ago. Dean's doing quite well, and he was telling us how happy he is now he's come out. He hasn't told his folks yet though. Neither has Seamus. I don't know if their folks support it, but I do hope for their sake they will.” 

Harry stared blankly, mouth hanging open. He couldn't believe he'd never considered it. Of course, bisexuality made sense. Hadn't he noticed men before? But he hadn't wanted to admit it. He could still here Uncle Vernon shouting slurs in the car as they drove past a rather colorful gaggle of men outside a club one night on their way home from London. 

He swallowed. 

“Oh.” 

“Are—are you all right? Should I Floo Ron?” 

Harry shook his head mutely. “No, I just... I just never realised, y'know? Men and women. That's—that—it makes sense, though. It—yeah, it makes sense.” 

“Harry?” Hermione leaned forward, resting her hand over his. Harry stared at their hands, at the way their skin contrasted, at how soft Hermione's looked against his, how dark hers were compared to his. He entwined their fingers, lost in thought, mesmerized by their joined hands. 

“Harry,” she tried again. 

“I never thought about it,” he whispered. “It's like...there's so much I never thought about. They kept me in a cupboard, Hermione. What—what did I know about the world? I didn't even know about my dad—”

“I know, Harry—”

Harry shook his head. “No, I mean...I didn't _know_ , Hermione. Everyone always said I looked like him, and then I saw that first photo and he was as dark as you, and I never knew. And I didn't know I was a wizard, or that my mum loved me enough to die for me, or that I was—am bisexual,” he said the word the way one would taste a new dish. It was strange, foreign to him, and maybe a bit confusing. He said it again, “Bisexual.” 

He felt the way the word rolled over his tongue, the way his lips pressed together, the way the breath slipped between his teeth. He was bisexual. And Draco Malfoy thought he had a crush on him. 

Hermione was still watching him, tears in her eyes. 

“I—thanks, Hermione. I'm sorry, I just—”

“Don't be sorry,” she said, her voice thick as she fought not to cry. “I'm just glad I could be here for you.” 

Harry nodded. “Me too.” 

“How about some tea?” Hermione asked, squeezing his hand. Harry smiled. 

“Yeah, okay.” 

He waited a moment, watching her make tea for them, his mind traveling back to all the things he'd missed growing up, all the things that had maybe been staring him in the face for years. As Hermione set the tea bags in mugs, Harry thought about Draco's letters and he steeled himself for what he was about to say. 

“Malfoy thinks I have a crush on him.” 

Hermione tensed, her hands stilling, her shoulders rising. The kettle began to whistle. 

“I see,” she said stiffly. “And do you?” 

Harry swallowed. He'd thought she'd laugh at the suggestion, had hoped she'd laugh. It would make it seem as absurd as it should have seemed, less like a possibility. “I don't...know. I mean, I don't want to...but I—our letters... I think we might be flirting? It's weird though. And I know I shouldn't—I know we can't—” He ran a hand through his hair, frustrated. “I don't know. I'm sorry.” 

Hermione set their cups down a little harder than necessary. Harry's was exactly the way he liked it, far too much milk and sugar. “Don't apologize.” 

“But you're mad,” he pointed out. 

Hermione took a deep breath. “Harry... I can't deny that I'm upset. It's Malfoy. Maybe someday he and I can coexist, maybe someday he'll apologize. Maybe someday I'll see the good in him that you see, but I'm concerned. You two have always been like this, drawn to each other. It doesn't surprise me, but it is concerning. I don't know if you two could ever have a healthy relationship. And I don't know if Ron and I could ever come close to being his friends. Do you want that? To be with someone your friends don't like? Oh, I know that mustn't seem fair, Harry, but you have to understand.” 

He took both her hands, pulling them away from her face so he could cup her cheeks and wipe away her tears. “Hermione,” he said gently. “I do understand. I'm not asking you to like him, to be his friend, or even to approve of us dating. I'm not dating him, and not just because I've only just realised I could or because he made it abundantly clearly that he doesn't wan to date me. I wouldn't do that to you or Ron. If I dated him...” He shook his head. “It wouldn't be for years, and only if things were better between all of us. I love you and Ron, you're my family. I'm not going to prioritize someone else over you two.” 

Hermione nodded, squeezing her eyes shut and leaning into Harry's hands. “Thank you, Harry. I'm—I'm so sorry, I feel so selfish.” 

“No, stop. You're not selfish. He was horrible to you. You—you never deserved any of that. Your blood isn't dirty. Nothing about you is dirty.” He wiped away a stray tear, rising to his feet so he could better reach her to kiss her forehead. 

She sniffed. “Thank you.” 

“Anytime, 'Mione.” 

***

_Potter,_

_Your silence is concerning._

_Did I perhaps upset you? Are you perhaps the one who's scared now?_

_Malfoy_

_PS  
I would like Icarus back someday. _

***

_Draco,_

_Sorry about the delay and for keeping Icarus for so long. He was quite content here, though. I think he likes Hermione more than me now, to be honest._

_Anyway, the reason for the delay..._

_I wasn't telling you I was gay. I really did grow up in a cupboard. The muggles I lived with, my aunt and uncle, didn't give me my own room. They didn't give me my own clothes, either. There's a lot of things they did and didn't do, a lot of things I didn't know about myself and the world as a child. I'd thought I was done with those personal revelations._

_But your letter made me question myself._

_It took me some time, and I admit, I was a bit scared, but mostly I didn't know what to say. Hermione helped me figure things out. Or at least, I think I've figured things out. I'm still a bit confused. I've never really liked a bloke before, you know. I mean, not that I'm aware of. Cedric was very fit though, I'll give you that. But I'm still figuring this out. I'm still not entirely sure what this is that I'm feeling, so I didn't say anything because I was scared. I guess you missed me, huh, Malfoy? What ever happened to not wanting to be my friend?_

_It's all right, I knew you'd come around eventually._

_I'm sorry if your mother was upset by my silence. I'm sure she was quite bored without her soaps—do you know what those are? Soap operas? It's a form of muggle entertainment. It's a really dramatic television—well, I suppose you don't know what TV shows are, do you? Its like theatre. Anyway, I hope your mother was able to find something to keep herself entertained during my silence. I'll be sure to send her flowers to apologize._

_Also, please never imply, ever again that I fancy Ron or that fancying Ginny was in any way related to harboring secret feelings for Ron. That's...weird. He's like a brother to me. I never want to think about that ever again, so we will never speak of it ever again. Understood?_

_Could you tell me about being gay? I mean, in the Wizard world? Hermione's found me some books to read, but I'd rather talk to a real person. I was thinking of owling Dean Thomas, but I'm not sure I'm ready to come out to more people about this. But Dean's bisexual—that's what I think I am—so maybe he'd be better to talk? But then again you've lived in the Wizarding world your whole life. I only know how it is in the Muggle world, and well, I don't really know a lot of gay or bi wizards or witches. Any, except for you, Dean, and Seamus._

_Is it like the Muggle world? Is there a lot of bigotry? Are you in the closet? Why do you need to marry Pansy if you're gay? Why wouldn't you be with a man? When did you figure it out? When did you have time? I mean, we were in a war for the last two years—well, I guess I've always kind of been in it, but how did you find time to figure it out? I feel like I should have known sooner, but the Dursleys (those're the muggles I lived with) were awful. They didn't like anything or anyone different from them. I remember my uncle calling a bunch of guys—I don't even want to repeat it, but it was awful. Is it like that for wizards? Is it safer?_

_I have so many questions..._

_And, just to clear things up, I don't want to date you. I mean, you're fit, I won't deny that, but like you said we'd be doomed. Besides, I could never be with someone who'd been so horrible to my friends. I mean, maybe if you'd apologize—not that I'm suggesting you should so we could date, because that's not what I'm saying! I just think you should apologize. Especially if we're going to be friends. Not because I want us to be boyfriends.... ~~That's the first time I've ever used the term boyfriend to refer to myself, why did it have to be like this~~ _

_But I do want us to be friends, and I think it'd be nice if you wanted that too._

_Your friend,  
Harry_

_PS  
I'm touched by your concern. I'm not barking, you know. I mean, yeah okay the war was traumatic, but I had a bit of Voldemort's soul in me. I saw things, things he was doing... and I saw you. I know some of what went on at the Manor because of Voldemort. I know how scared you were. And I was scared too. I was scared that I'd fail and that I'd died—which dying wasn't actually so bad. I mean, I was a little sore from the Killing Curse, but honestly the actual dying part didn't suck like I thought it would. _

_I suppose that's a bit morbid._

_What I mean to say is that yes, I am a bit fucked up right now, but so are you, so maybe we could be fucked up together? I mean—not as boyfriends! Just as friends. We could be fucked up friends. ~~Merlin, why I still writing~~_

_PPS  
My offer for lunch still stands. I promise I have no expectations. _

***

Draco was not upset. 

Not at all. 

Sure, he'd been expecting—even excited for Potter's response, which he'd then had to wait two weeks for, but that was fine. And it was absolutely wonderful, positively spiffing that Potter did not, in fact, want to date him. 

He stared forlornly down at the signature. 

“Your friend,” he said to the empty room. “What a fucking wanker.” 

“Language,” his mother said, entering the room in her finest summer robes. “I trust you're still moping over Harry's most recent letter? Come now, Draco.” 

He looked up at his mother, noted the bouquet in her arms and groaned. “Please tell me those aren't from Potter.” 

“They are, in fact,” she said with a smile. “And he event sent along a lovely card. Did you know that muggles have a form of daytime entertainment called—”

“Soap operas. Yes, Mother, Potter has told me all about it.” 

Narcissa looked put out, but her smile returned quickly. “Well, it was lovely of him to send them, don't you think?” 

“No, Mother. I think it was cruel and unusual punishment.” 

Narcissa tutted. “Draco, you are acting like a child. You like him, just write to him and accept his invitation for lunch.” 

_“Mother,”_ he groaned, covering his face with his hands and sliding further into his seat. 

“Yes, I know, cruel and unusual. It's hardly my fault you dragged this out as long as you have. Now, I'm off to see Andromeda and Teddy. I do hope you decide to join me on my next visit. You'll find that people are much more ready to forgive when you are honest about your own failings.” 

Draco watched his mother go, scowling. 

He was going to kill Potter for sending her those flowers. 

He supposed a lunch date would be the best way to do it. 

***

_Potter,_

_I hope you know that I am furious with you. Two weeks! Honestly. You had me convinced that you'd gone and gotten hurt in your training program. I was beside myself, checking the papers everyday for any mention of Harry Potter being sent to St. Mungo's in pieces. Merlin, what have you done to me?_

_And now you tell me that no, you weren't being facetious, you were being literal. You literally grew up in a cupboard. Those muggles ought to be locked up! It's no wonder you're so—to be as crass as you were in your last letter—fucked up. I demand to know the location of these muggles, Potter. I think Aurors should be sent immediately to apprehend them. Certainly, Dumbledore must not have known this was going on? I can't imagine anyone would simply allow you to return to such a horrid place every year knowing such a thing. Not even the house elves sleep in cupboards here, Potter! They have better furnishings than you did! I am appalled and horrified. As was Mother. I haven't seen her look that angry since Father tried to convince us to leave the country._

_And of course you went ahead and bought her flowers. And wrote her a letter._

_You realise that I have to kill you now, don't you? So, I suppose I'll have to accept your invitation to lunch. I shall retrieve my wand and my owl, and then use my wand to do away with you. It will be the most famous wand in all of the Wizarding world: defeater of Dark Lords and Boys-Who-Lived-in-Cupboards._

_Honestly. A bloody cupboard._

_Mother will be beside herself when you come round, you know. Especially after hearing about your cupboard. She couldn't believe it. I think she's already planning to call the seamstresses—oh, she's planning to invite you for tea, by the way. You will accept her offer and you will dress as best as you can. Have Granger dress you, she has actual taste. But be warned, Mother plans to dote on you. It will be grossly embarrassing, but she is now under the impression that it is her duty to spoil you because you clearly missed out as a child. I assured her the Weasleys had no doubt already done so, but she insisted that there was no amount of spoiling or doting that could ever make up for what you endured. She is a woman possessed._

_Also, I am quite relieved that you do not want to date me. That really puts me at ease, you know? I'll be sure to write to Granger and Weasley sometime—I mean, if we are to be 'fucked up friends', then I suppose I ought to make an effort. But I'm only doing this because you have worn me down and now I am loath to end this strange correspondence of ours. Like you said, it has nothing to do with dating. And I am only begrudgingly your friend, Potter. Don't forget that! I suppose you expect me to concede that you are rather fit, too? I mean, your eyes are very nice at any rate. And you do have excellent bone structure which isn't' surprising. The Potters were a good-looking family. Less inbreeding, I think. But I've certainly met more attractive blokes. You remember Blaise Zabini? He is quite fit, and a very good kisser. Perhaps he would lower himself enough to help you explore your new found sexuality? No, that wouldn't go over well. Blaise is a heart breaker, Potter. You would do well to stay far, far away from him. In fact, I forbid you from contacting him—no, that would only encourage you. You are so very contrary. It is maddening._

_I suppose I shall just take it upon myself to answer your questions. Over lunch. Oh, and by the way, I'll be arriving the moment you finish this letter. I hope you're as good a cook as you claim to be._

_Your friend,  
Draco _

_PS  
I thought I ought to tell you that Mother has taken our correspondence as inspiration. She has been speaking with her sister, Andromeda, and has even been to visit her and Teddy several times since our last letter. She is trying to convince me to go, but I admit I am a bit frightened. Perhaps you would accompany us, sometime? _

_PPS  
I hope you don't think I've forgotten our little spat over custody of Icarus. I will be filing my grievances with the Department of Magical Creatures. I don't know how I am to break it to him. He will be distraught, Potter. This is what you have wrought. Your own stolen owl will be absolutely heartbroken. Don't think you can make it up to him just by stealing him away from me for two weeks at a time on a whim! Icarus deserves better, Potter. So shape up if you ever wish to be a part of his life._

Harry had only just finished reading the post script when his doorbell rang. 

With a quick wink at Icarus and a smile on his face, he went to answer the door.


End file.
